Lambs to the Slaughter
by Blue Moons and Pink Suns
Summary: On Reaping Day, two twelve year olds are chosen for a fight to the death. A pact between their older siblings saves their lives, but now these best friends must reap what they sowed. First book AU. Prim is Gale's little sister, and Rory is Katniss's little brother.
1. Chapter 1

**AN#1: ****Hello everyone! This is new territory for me; I've never written any THG fanfiction before… So if this idea has already been done, I'm sincerely sorry. :D**

**Getting on with it… This is an AU for the first book, like stated in the summary. In this story, Prim and Rory (Gale's brother) have switched places. Also, in this story, Rory and Prim are the same age.**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own The Hunger Games, nor am I writing for profit. That all belongs to Suzanne Collins. :]**

**-/-/-/-**

It is reaping day.

Gale and I have been hunting since before dawn, but now the sun is high in the sky, so we rest. We rest and we try not to think about how it is Prim and Rory whose lives are on the line today.

Not just us.

Gale clutches the hand nearest him and thumbs the knuckles, and I gift him a smile. We do not talk about the pact, because it is all we think of.

Sometimes, I think about the Games, and I think I might have a chance. That maybe, just maybe, I could win.

But I would only volunteer if Prim were called.

I have Rory to think about.

And then the rumble of a hovercraft is vibrating the ground. We crouch low in the high grass and wait until the ground is still again, and then stand and embrace, silently thank each other.

"Make sure Prim's hair is brushed," I joke. Gale smirks at me.

"Make sure Rory's _teeth _are brushed."

I return the sentiment, and we cross through the fence. It's over.

It's time.

**-/-/-/-**

Rory is silent, sullen, when I return, my game bag hardly full and hair frizzy from the morning humidity.

I scrub myself clean, make sure Rory is dressed and that his tie is knotted and his slacks ironed. Our mother pit pats around, arranging the part in his hair and sticking metal pins into mine, sighing.

She sighs a lot on Reaping Day. Always has.

I let her do these things for me, let her tuck my hair in and wipe invisible spots from my face.

And then the Anthem starts.

We leave the house in a hurry, but as we reach the square, Madge, blonde curls loose, rushes over from the girl's side, a red dot still tattooed on her fingertip. Her eyes are wide with fear or excitement, I cannot tell which. Her hands are shaking as she pulls at the gold pin at her breast, undoes it and goes to stick it on Rory's collar, eyeing me, not my mother, for permission.

I nod, forcing a smile, and Madge smiles back, pinning it on his lapel quickly.

And then I look at it.

"A mockingjay!" Rory breathes in wonder.

I feel my mouth go dry, and Madge looks to me as she speaks.

"Yes," she stutters, her eyes definitely scared now, no room for confusion. "For luck."

Vaguely, I remember Rory thanking her. I remember kissing his forehead and whispering that everything would be alright. And I remember pricking my finger and heading to the corral that they keep us girls in.

Madge's words unsettle me, her actions as well, and all I can think is that Madge is the mayor's daughter, she's the mayor's daughter, and that she always knew things before the rest of us.

I catch Gale's eye from across the walkway and he nods, Rory in his sights.

He is his now.

Prim looks to Gale, and then back to me. I smile big. She smiles back at me, and I know, that she is in no danger here. Never was. Won't be for another two years, if I make it that long, when I will be too old to take her death sentence.

But I know the chances of her – and Rory, for that matter – being pulled are slim to none. Neither Gale of I have allowed them to barter their lives for grain and oil, so their names are each in once.

The chances, in my case, are not so good. Gale's even worse.

This is Gale's last year. After today he will never participate in another Reaping. There will be no one to volunteer for Rory if he is chosen next year, or the year after that.

Which just means I will have to try harder for him.

He smiles timidly at me from across the way, stroking his pin nervously.

Mockingjays.

He doesn't remember our father, but I do. I remember the way he sang to the birds, and how they sang back to him.

I remember how the day after he died, when I ran into the woods to cry and hunt, they had sung it right back to me.

Effie Trinket taps on the microphone. A hush falls over the crowd. Town children who have no tesserae cling to each other in mortal fear, while the starving children of the Seam wait blankly for a demise they have already been destined for.

Effie is dressed as ridiculously as ever, bedecked in pink everything, from her hair to her dress to her skin. I cannot see from where I'm at, but I'd bet a dozen coins on even her eyelashes boasting the gaudy color. Haymitch, District 12's only surviving victor, slouches behind her, beside the mayor, his head on his fist, a silver flask in his grip.

She poises her fingers high, a large smile playing on her magenta lips. Her feet shuffle on the temporary stage as she glances from section to section.

"Hello, hello, and hello!" she sings, her voice high and excited and so very Capitol.

She continues on with her spiel of this tradition for which our country is known for. War and sacrifice. Our duty. A reminder.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor," she finishes.

If I were not so scared, I would have rolled my eyes, like I have done the past four Reaping days of my adolescence.

"Ladies first!" she chirps. Her high heels click on the temporary stage as she makes her way to the first bowl.

I see a face just ahead of me in the sea of curls and braids.

Someone – Madge – has turned away from Effie, is looking to the boys.

I follow her line of sight, and my eyes fall on Gale, whose hands are clenched tight, his jaw set.

My stomach knots.

Effie is fishing around in the bowl, her gloved fingers twirling over the little, sealed pieces of paper. She snatches one right off the top and marches back over to the microphone.

I watch Prim's little head, look over and up to watch Rory's.

Effie grins again, if she ever stopped, and looks to us.

"The female tribute of District 12, for the 74th Annual Hunger Games," she preludes, her voice gaining bravado and volume.

She pops the seal on the slip and unfolds it smoothly, taking a breath.

I hold my own.

"Primrose Hawthorne!"

I release.

**-/-/-/-**

We never told our mothers of the pact.

It was the Sunday of Prim's 12th birthday. It wasn't a good birthday, probably the worst number, if we were all being honest about it. 11 was a much better number; the last year before true, adult fear would set in. Or 19, which signified freedom from a monster that was trying to murder you once a year, every year, like clockwork.

12 meant that for the next seven years of your life, you were up for a death sentence.

But, nonetheless, it was a birthday, Prim's, and Hazelle, their mother, was baking a cake. Gale and I were to bring home something good to cook, and something else to sell for her present.

We were taking our midmorning rest for breakfast in the high grass, chewing on lukewarm cheese and tubers.

"She wouldn't survive, Katniss. Not ten minutes," he had breathed, the words tumbling from his mouth like a confession, his face pinched and angry.

I hadn't said anything at first, just pondered. Rory would be twelve in two months, which meant him and Prim would be in the Reaping Pool that year.

I, of course, had thought on it. I'd thought on it and dreamed of it and schemed about it.

But if he were pulled, I could not volunteer.

All I could do was keep him off of the tessarae, and hope he wasn't pulled.

So I reached out to take his hand.

"If I could just volunteer…," he whispered, looking out to where the sun was rising and sighing deep. "If I could just volunteer, I would be able to sleep at night."

The idea had come to me then, quietly, like a ghost tickling my ear.

"I would volunteer for her, Gale," I said simply, watching him through squinted eyes. He had whirled around to face me then, a look of awe and understanding etched on his face.

His sigh was shaky, but he nodded quickly.

"And I for Rory," he had answered, watching me carefully.

I shook my head at him at that, but I remember being so angry at myself, because Rory was worth more to me than Gale. Gale could last longer. Gale could win.

Rory could not.

But if Gale left, and died, his family would be destitute.

And so I had swallowed hard.

"And if…if we didn't make it back, we'd take care of the other's family, right?"

Gale had nodded, had looked down at my hand in his. He had tilted his head to look me in the eyes and he had nodded again. "I swear."

And so I had sworn as well.

We had feasted that night on wild turkey, and had used the feathers and three squirrels and a hare to buy her a simple silver locket.

I never knew what she put in it, she had told me it was a secret, and in that moment, I was sure I would never know.

**-/-/-/-**

Distantly, I hear Hazel cry out in shock. Prim is ramrod still in front of me, but the second her hands go to her waistband, the words explode from me, launching themselves free, and I am flying into the aisle before she can take a step, right into the arms of the Peacekeepers.

"I volunteer!" I screech, my voice desperate and shattering with my conviction. "I volunteer as tribute!"

A dull roar falls over the crowd as Effie looks uncertainly to the mayor and the Peacekeepers who have me in their iron grips.

Prim begins to cry, begging me not to, but her cries only join those of Hazelle and my mother. I look back to see Rory sobbing into his palms, Gale's face hard but quavering, his eyes red and his jaw revealing fury.

Effie says something about protocol, but Haymitch slurs at her to shut up, and the mayor shrugs his shoulders in disgust and tells her to get on with it.

I swallow.

I am going to die.

I am going to die.

This is it.

Effie begins chirping something unintelligible, but I understand enough to speak my name into the microphone.

My eyes search out my family in the crowd, and though I know I will be allowed to say good-bye in a couple of minutes, I want to speak to them now, apologize, tell them how sorry I am.

I find Madge in the crowd, and her eyes are wide with shock, her hands over her mouth. She shakes her head at me, horrified.

I swallow and step to the side, fight the bile that is rising from the pits of my stomach.

It's over.

It's all over.

Effie walks back to the microphone, paper in hand. She pops the seal and says her peace, and the name tumbles from her lips, and now she is no longer so happy, her voice quivering a little.

"Rory Everdeen. A bit of sibling rivalry never hurt anyone, am I right?"

I swallow and I feel like laughing, feel like throwing back my head and cackling as our world comes crashing down around us, everything gone.

The cries of my mother and Hazelle pause just long enough for Rory to sniffle and move towards the aisle.

I feel my face fall as Gale's freezes in shock.

He's not going to.

He's not going to.

"I volunteer as tribute," he croaks.

I sigh with relief and hate myself for it immediately.

And then Hazelle is screaming, Prim is screaming, my mother is moaning and Rory is beating on Gale with his small, weak little fists and everything is happening so fast that I can hardly process it.

A blonde boy with thick shoulders drags my brother away as the Peacekeepers escort Gale to the stage. I stare at him and wonder how we could have possibly done this to ourselves.

He speaks his name to Effie and she makes a comment about how I must have volunteered for his sister, and isn't it funny how things work out like that?

It's over then, and we are escorted back to rooms to say our good-byes.

**-/-/-/-**

**AN#2:**** Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN #1: A little late. Sorry, guys. I've had this chapter written out for several days, and got halfway through the typing and editing phase yesterday when Word spontaneously crash. *heavy sighs for days* But here it is! :D**

**Also, I'm taking a lot of liberties with the getting-to-the-arena process. You'll probably recognize them, so I hope you won't mind.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, nor do I make any profit from my work here.**

**-/-/-/-**

Gale and I are separated immediately.

Peacekeepers muscle us through heavy wooden doors as the Anthem starts, the deafening roar of the speakers drowning out our mother's cries.

I understand, now, why they are played so loudly on Reaping Day.

We enter the town hall, Madge's home, and step into the foyer, the warm colors sending a small trickle of calm, familiarity, seeping into my heart. The reds and browns blend effortlessly into golds and yellows, blurring the walls with tapestries and paintings, the flooring with shining oak and woven carpets.

I lock eyes with President Snow's, and any calm I have retained melts into hatred, anger.

This painting of him – required in every town hall – is old. Everything is aged and breaking in District 12, and here, with our president's yellow hair and pale, pink snake lips, it is even more prominent. Now, his hair is long and unkempt, falls in a wiry white tangle. His eyes are clouded, his mouth stained bloodred, from what we can only hope and pray is an illness that even the Capitol cannot heal.

This president staring back at me has unfocused eyes, as if the artist could not bear to look into the man's gaze.

And I know it's silly to think that he's looking at me, but in that few seconds of contact with the oil and canvas, I see hatred. Hatred for us, his children, the children he is murdering.

I'm taken down a hallway to the right, while Gale is taken to the left. The Peacekeepers' faces are unknown to me; they were bulletproof helmets with tinted visors.

The room they take me to is small; no larger than the piano room that I know is just down the hall. There is a chair, and a lamp. No windows. The air vents are on the ceiling, pumping in a steady stream of cool air.

I wait here, in this unsettlingly small space, for several minutes before a girl enters, a slight limp to her gait, scarlet plaits hanging off of her head and covering her right side. She holds a glass of water and when she holds it out to me, her fist opens to reveal a small, yellow pill, the size of a pea.

She looks up at me when I don't take it, her hair falling from her cheek to reveal a milky white eye. There is scarring over that side of her face, burns, from what I can tell. Her hair seems to be undamaged, and yet her leg also seems to be crippled.

"Take it," she commands, her voice strong and sure. I shake my head at her, refuse to take this strange medicine that she is offering me.

"It will make things…easier," she whispers, her voice losing its steel. I shake my head again, but this time I can feel my hesitation. Make things easier? Will it make me forget what's happening? Not think about it any longer?

Forget Rory? Forget I must kill my best friend to save myself? My family? To keep his alive, as well?

She cocks her head at me, brow furrowing. Her right eyebrow is rippled above that blind eye.

"The boy took it," she edges, still looking at me with confusion.

"No." I answer. She's lying, but it doesn't matter, because I won't take it. I won't forget.

She stares at me for another couple of seconds, then nods. Her eyes hold pity, and I know it is because I will die and she will not. She has lived with her disability, has likely been ridiculed and abused for it her entire life, but because of the handicap it poses on her, she has been formally relieved from any duty to her nation.

Including the Games.

She watches me longer than she should, and I wonder if she's thinking about how long I'll last. How last year, it was two town children that had been drawn, a fourteen and seventeen year old, and how they had not survived past the initial Cornucopia bloodbath.

How, maybe, with two Seam children, Gale and I, who have fought for our lives from the days our fathers were killed, District 12 might finally have a victor.

She blinks, swallows the pill herself. She hands me the glass of water, casts a strange glance at the lamp, then turns and leaves.

It is close to a half hour before that door opens again, and when it does, my mother is ushered inside, the door shut behind her.

We have five minutes.

She grabs me, holds me tighter than she did the night my father didn't come home. Holds me so my face rests in her hair, and hers in mine. She's shaking, sobbing, and a part of is glad that I will never live to see my daughter leave for her death.

Her eyes are leaving my hair damp, her nose running so that I can barely hear what she is saying.

"You can't go away again, Mom," I mutter, trying so hard not to cry, knowing that Rory is coming next and that I must be strong for him. She nods against my shoulder furiously, sucking in her breaths painfully as she breathes through my hair.

"And you can't put Rory on the tesserae," I add, and this time my voice is hard. Strong. Because I had my name in that bowl over twenty times this year because we needed grain and oil. And he only had his name in once.

Gale's was in forty eight times this year. She can't let that happen to him.

My throat is getting tighter as she mumbles affirmatives to me, and I'm trying so hard, trying to think of anything she needs to know about my brother that I won't be able to tell her.

But then I realize that Rory may have the rest of his life with our mother, and I will not. I only have these few seconds left. These few minutes.

So I hold my tongue and clutch her to me tight, try to memorize the smell of her shampoo – _fresh grass and lemon _– and try to remember the feel of her hair against my cheek, the way her hands feel pressed against my linen dress.

I don't have much time left. And I don't want to be crying for however much I do.

The Peacekeepers are back so soon, and they're taking her away as she fights them, screams at them. _"Don't touch me! I have legs, I can walk!"_

A sob escapes from my throat as we exchange fleeting I-love-you's, but I tamp it down, shove it down, because Rory is next, his black hair frizzy and unkempt, his eyes tear stained.

He seems to be handling this much better than our mother, so I smile as I hug him. His mouth quirks as he fidgets with Madge's gift, and as I look at the tarnished metal, I wonder if Madge knew this was going to happen. If that had been what she'd been trying to tell me.

I dismiss the thought as Rory unpins it. He holds it out me, eyes wide and unblinking.

I take it quietly, hold it in my fist instead of pinning it on my dress.

"You have to _win," _he breathes. He's looking at me with such_ faith, _that faith that he's always had in me, like he knows I'll always be there.

"I'll try," I answer.

He nods, then, smooths down his front.

"If it comes down to it… And it's just the two of you… I'll understand. If you can't come back. If Gale does instead."

His voice cracks then, and I draw him in closer, breathe in this boy that is so much better than I ever was, will grow up to be the best of all of us. I'm sure of it.

He sniffles a little, clutches my dress in his small hands.

"If things get bad," I start, my voice a soft whisper, "you'll have to go out and set traps. Never go on Reaping Day, though. Sometimes the fences get turned on."

He nods into my chest, and I swallow, try not to think of my family and Gale's without either one of us. How will they eat? Survive?

He's crying, so softly, trying so hard to be tough, to take it. I clutch him and rock him like he is still my little baby doll, breathe him in deep and let it sober me, let the diluted scent of my father's cologne keep me strong, back me, pour iron into my spine.

We hold each other, and I pat his head and tell him I love him as he sobs. Keeping my tears to myself us the hardest thing I've ever done, it seems.

It feels like only seconds have passed, and then he's gone, whisked away, and I am alone, eyes burning and nose tickling.

My last visitor is Madge.

There's a second of disappointment at seeing her there, a second where I forget and wonder, _Why didn't Gale come? Why wouldn't he come to say good-bye?_

But then I remember, all over again, and I have to sit so that I don't black out, my vision swirling with unshed tears.

The doors close behind her, and she steps forward, swallows hard, looks at her shoes. She doesn't touch me, and I know it's because she can feel the hatred I'm trying to depress. My anger at her, at the world, for giving this girl who has had no suffering in her life, a full belly every night, life. And for giving Gale and I death, when all we have ever done was try to keep our families alive.

She steps to the lamp beside me, and switches it off with deft fingers that are used to this luxury. Her hand slides along the inside of the lampshade, and when her hand returns, she holds a small, golden bauble, taps a small red switch on the side.

She sets it back in the lamp, then, and flicks the light back on.

She looks at me, points to the lamp.

"Everywhere you go, you will find things like these. They're used for spying, and record what you say. Some even have cameras."

I look to the lamp and wonder if I have said anything that could be used against me, or Rory, or Gale.

_I told him to hunt._

My whole body trembles.

"Can you delete it? Clear it out?" I stammer, hysteria starting in my bones as I clench my fist around the mockingjay pin.

She nods. "I already have. I reset it, so in six minutes or so it will turn back on. We'll both be gone by then."

I sigh deep, rest my head on my hand and lean forward in the chair.

"They'll try and make an example of you, Katniss," she breathes.

I watch her in confusion. Of course they are. That's the whole point of our tradition.

But she shakes her head at me again.

"No. You don't understand.'

She breathes deep, folds her hands.

"I can't tell you much," she whispers, her eyes pleading with me, "because I don't have the time."

"But I will tell you what I know."

She takes another deep breath.

"Prim and Rory? Their names were the _only _names in the Reaping Bowls."

My heart skips.

My breath hitches.

My vision swims.

Madge reaches forward, places a soft, un-callused palm on my knee. She ignores me as I flinch at the contact, instead tightening her grip.

"You or Gale," she starts, her words fierce and true, "are the reason why that happened. Either you two, or possibly your mothers, have shown rebellious tendencies."

Of course we have. We hunt ever day of our lives, sell our game to the mayor and to Peacekeepers. We rig our television sets to the main power line instead of our generators so that, when the power dies out in the Seam, the Games cannot air.

We blaspheme and we curse and we blame.

Madge's hand tightens.

"They are going to try and _crush you._"

My hands shake as I reach for my hair my fist clenching around her pin again.

She sees it, and her eyes soften. She places her pale hand over mine and smiles gently.

"It protected Rory," she starts softly "So…maybe it will protect you, too."

The guards come after that, to take both of us.

I am escorted into the hallway and am led away to what I can only guess is a back exit. The roaring of the trains is echoing in the walls, and my heart pounds and my mind races.

This is it. It is –truly – over.

I will never see my home again.

At least I taught Rory to trap.

_They won't starve. They won't starve._

Rory might have to go work in the mines, but the labor will take his mind off his grief. Prim will continue her apprenticeship with my mother, will become a midwife, perhaps a doctor.

They will survive.

I exit the building, and find myself on a back porch with three, small steps to the gravel below, to the train tracks that that silver monster with yellow eyes is speeding down.

I'm terrified, but I refuse to show it. I stand tall, back straight, and I pin the mockingjay right above my heart.

Gale steps out beside me, but takes a step back at the deafening cacophony that is barreling towards us.

His eyes are pink, his face gray with unshed tears.

We are strong.

_We are one._

The train closes in, screeches to a stop.

The doors open as Haymitch Abernathy swings through the doorway from the town hall, amber bottle splashing, and curses at us to move so that he can enter.

Effie fusses at him in her Capitol accent as she ushers us inside, her wide grin revealing teeth the color of a lamb's nose, the lightest blush of pink.

We are strong.

_We are one._

We step inside, hand in hand.

The door hisses shut.

"Coffee, anyone?"

**-/-/-/-**

**AN #2: Phew! Glad that's over. Now we get to start having some fun… ;) Reviews are so appreciated! Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN #1: I'm sorry this took so long to post, I had it written out a couple of days ago and just hadn't had the time to type it up. But here it is now! : )**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, nor am I writing this for profit or in affiliation with Suzanne Collins.**

**-/-/-/-**

Stepping into the train is like stepping into another world.

Cool air buffets us as we enter, Gale's hand clenched in mine, Haymitch stumbling ahead of us as he grasps at a table of sweets.

My nauseated stomach reacts violently to the combined, overwhelming stench of sugar, coffee, and brandy. I'm able to swallow and keep myself grounded until Effie steps just a little too close, and her perfume wafts to me, and I lurch back to the closing door, dry heaving as I go.

Gale takes me into him before I can leap from the already moving train, immediately looking for something for me to vomit in, reaches around me for a silver bowl of ice that he promptly dumps out the sliver of open space left in the doorway.

Effie gasps as I retch in the tub, yells for an Avox to assist me. Haymitch laughs at me, but I don't have the strength to be angry.

Gale holds the bowl and pats my back, pulls back the wisps of hair that have come loose from the braid my mother gave me this morning. He hushes me as he holds me up.

And I'm not surprised by him taking care of me, this simple task that he's done countless times in our lives, and I for him.

We will always take care of each other, if I have anything to do with it.

A girl with a shaved head appears from an adjoining car, her mouth shut primly, and comes to take Gale's place, but he pushes her off roughly as I spit the last bits of bile from my mouth.

She flies into the wall behind us, and Effie gasps again. I watch her try and get Haymitch to do something from the corner of my eye, but he simply shakes his head, quiet, watching us like we're already in the Arena.

"Get the hell away from us," Gale growls, and as I blink up, I see a flash of fear in this poor child's silent eyes.

I reach down to where his arm is wrapped tightly around my middle, pat him softly, try to calm him down a little. He relaxes immediately, and I know I have done right.

He rubs my back and sducks his head in apology to the Avox, and she nods warily.

I swallow, and Haymitch eyes me strangely, almost looking confused.

I've never spoken to Haymitch a day in my life, and I wonder now if that will ever change.

But…that look. There's something unsettling about it. It _meant _something. I know it.

He breaks the contact, and so I look away as well, wipe my mouth on my linen collar and turn around to bury my face in Gale's chest.

His heart is steady, strong, his shirt warm and smelling of him.

When he holds me like this, it is so easy to ignore our world, ignore what's happening. So easy to forget where we're going.

Eventually, I feel strong enough to limp my way to one of the many overstuffed sofas. I collapse besides Effie, and immediately start breathing through my mouth to keep my stomach calm.

Gale hovers nearby, then inspects the drink table, taking a bottle of seltzer and mixing it with what looks like lemon slivers.

Effie watches me in much the same way Haymitch had been, with that same expression of confusion, and maybe sadness, perhaps even a little compassion, which has been absent from Haymitch's face all day.

Gale tells me later that when Rory was pulled after I volunteered, he had risen to his feet in fury, waving his bottle around, but I remember none of that.

I'm puzzling over this gaudy young woman before me, one not so much older who had never participated in her own Reaping. And I cannot tell if she knows less than or more than I do. If working with tributes has opened her eyes, or if her Capitol upbringing is so deeply ingrained that this is still all fun and games to her. If our lives are still just gold coins to be bet in a gambling match.

But then Gale is there, handing me the crystal goblet of glittering drink. He half-smiles at me, and I return it to him as I sip.

Effie stays silent as she inspects us.

Gale seats himself beside me, and I lean into him and for the first time since Prim's name was drawn, I feel calm. Peaceful.

Rory is safe. Prim is safe. We have done our duties well.

And, even here, on my way to the executioner, I am with the person that I need most. The person I want most by my side. I am not alone, I am not stuck here with a town boy who believes he can win and bring glory to our home district.

I am with Gale. We will end together.

Our fathers would be proud.

Gale wraps an arm around me as the train inches forward, and last thing I see before my eyes drift shut is Haymitch watching Effie, and Effie watching Haymitch, both wearing that same, sad face.

**-/-/-/-**

When I open my eyes, it is still light out, drifting lazily in through the clear glass that lines the train. Trees go by in a green blur, but the sky is steady, clear, as the sun moves in increments. Constant.

My head rests in Gale's lap, and his hands play in my hair as he looks across the car to someone.

I turn my head and see our mentor, barefoot, shirt open to his navel revealing long, ugly surgical scars.

No one makes it out of the Games. Not even the victors, really. Not the part of them that makes them human.

He glares at me as he spreads jam over a pastry that resembles a muffin.

"Mornin', sweetheart," he slurs.

I narrow my eyes at him, but halt the rage rising in me as Gale stiffens. The last thing we need is a mentor who hates us.

I ignore Haymitch and look back up. "Gale."

He glances down to me, and his lips are set in a hard line, but he nods because he knows what I'm saying. Knows what I'm asking.

Haymitch's movements still in my peripheral vision, and when I look over, his mouth is slightly ajar, his eyes narrow.

He sets down his food and reaches for an ornate bottle, tips the flute to his lips and chugs while he watches us.

"What the hell did you two do to deserve this?" he wonders aloud, and my stomach lurches and my heart skips and my eyes squeeze shut.

_Rebellious tendencies._

I shake my head, know Haymitch has seen both of us at the Hob, trading our kills for fabric and soap and coins. Know that he's sick, in more ways than one, probably has no idea I know anything about what he speaks.

I look to Gale, see his face has hardened, flushed, and I can feel the fury rolling off of him.

I sit up, then, look at our mentor and narrow my eyes.

"_We _weren't pulled," I spit out.

Haymitch smirks, shrugs and puts his hands palm-up in front of him.

"Dramatics is all," he starts, his lip twitching into a snarl as he reaches for the bottle again. "They knew what they were doing."

Which, of course, I know they did. If they saw our kills and heard our scheming, they heard our pact. It was probably all part of their plan: if we didn't live up to it, we would live a long, miserable life of guilt and hatred, blaming no one but ourselves. If we did live up to it, volunteer, we'd be dead. Either way, they're rid of us.

They were right.

"They're sick bastards," I intone, not caring that this train is probably bugged to the ears, because if Haymitch can tell secrets, then so can I. Not caring that Haymitch can probably tell I'm talking about him as well.

What can they do to me now?

Gale grips my hand, is probably worried now that I'm angry. Probably scared I'll do something dumb, which is what usually happens when I get too worked up.

But what does it matter? We're gone. We're done.

Why bother?

Haymitch grins at me, and all I want to do is rip the bottle from his grip and break it over his head.

I'm already out of my chair, Gale's hand encircling my wrist painfully, when Effie reappears.

She looks less perturbed about my position than she is of Haymitch's shirt.

She gasps, brings gloved hands up to her glittery mouth. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Abernathy! Modesty, please! It's dinner time, come along now!"

Her voice, its unnatural cheer, jars me and I feel my anger wane as smells of vegetables, and…lamb…waft to me.

Haymitch chuckles, and strips his shirt completely off before leading the way, Effie huffing behind us.

And as I'm forced to stare at his battle scars, more than he could have possibly attained, I wonder if the winners of the Games are unluckiest of all twenty-four.

And I wonder if it would be worth it. To come home to Rory, my mother, without Gale. To feed his family as they mourn their brother and son. As I mourn my best friend.

But, Gale… Gale is strong. Gale can block it out, has always been able to tuck away his grief and emotions so much better than me. Gale could get over me, I think. My mother has always loved Rory more, anyway. And Rory would have a full belly for the rest of his life. Gale would train him to provide, and he would be okay.

Gale has twice as many people who need him.

_**If Gale comes back… And you can't… I'll understand.**_

**-/-/-/-**

**AN #2: Yay! It's up. I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought! Constructive criticism is always welcome. : )**


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